


I Never Said I Didn't Care

by bees_stories



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angels are Dicks, Bathing/Washing, Castiel & Meg Masters Friendship, Castiel Whump, Castiel-centric, Demons Are Assholes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Meg Lives, Rescue Missions, Sleeping Together, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange times lead to strange bedfellows. When Castiel is lured to a deserted copper refinery in New Mexico, it's Meg to the rescue. But foiling the plot of a coalition of angels and demons turns out to be a piece of cake compared to the dangerous emotional territory they find themselves in after they make their escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Never Said I Didn't Care

Beta by: shadowsong26. Thank you very much for your sharp eyes and helpful advice. It was appreciated!  
Artwork by: ms_doomandgloom. When I saw your [initial image](http://ms-doomandgloom.livejournal.com/1579.html) I thought, 'I can see the story here.' Thank you for an awesome prompt!

  
[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/beesandbrews/10203449/6667/6667_original.jpg)   


*****

_"Mesquite Flats … the copper refinery … Hurry!"_

 

The screams that followed nearly caused Meg to flinch and drop her cards. They were screams of pure, unadulterated agony. 

Screams that would have been right at home in the torture chambers of Hell. 

All the bottles behind the bar and all the glasses in close proximity to the portable radio sitting at the end of it shattered. 

The radio exploded in a shower of sparks.

People cried out. A few in pain. Most in surprise.

Then everything went quiet for a few moments before a couple of tourists started to applaud and tease each other with nervous jocularity about poltergeists and haunted saloons. 

A trucker who'd stopped in for coffee and conversation suggested maybe that rumor about the world ending when the moon reached perigee the same time as that comet got close held some weight after all.

The locals griped about troublesome kids and publicity stunts while they mopped beer and glass off their tables with fists full of paper napkins.

A woman in a frilly apron dropped her order pad and ran to the assistance of the bartender. She pressed a hastily snatched bar towel to his bloody face and then helped him into the office as a cowpoke surveyed the mess with a long suffering expression, as if this wasn't the first time they'd endured such a calamity. Then he ambled over to a closet for a broom and a trash bag and began to sweep up.

Meg took in the various reactions quietly, and then she let her gaze flicker coolly over the other players and the considerable amount of cash and other portable valuables stacked in the center of the table, and thought to herself, "Why now?" But she'd been asking herself variations on the question Why? on and off all evening, ever since she'd agreed to meet Castiel in New Mexico, in a near-ghost town called Back End of Beyond. She'd rolled her eyes when he'd given her the location, but the name was bluntly accurate. Even in its heyday, Back End hadn't been anything to write home about; a bar and a rooming house for itinerant miners and cowhands. It still consisted of the same bar and rooming house – now converted to a motel that had seen better days – a filling station and a diner. Whatever aspirations Back End had in the bustling metropolis department had been thwarted long ago.

During their brief meeting, Cas hadn't said anything useful. Something big was up. So big it could change everything. He'd been curiously intense and his voice had become even more grave than usual as he'd confessed that something about Timothy, the angel who had set up the meet, and his companion Mariah, hadn't seemed right. He was a trusted friend. They were both members of his garrison. And yet Cas had left the meeting feeling that the pair was holding back something important.

So why not call the Winchesters? Meg had asked. They were Cas's usual ace in the hole, and it would have been a sensible precaution, given his concerns. Granted, lately things had been pretty tense between Cas and the brothers. But the trio had a bond. The kind they couldn't ignore. If it looked like a showdown was looming they always had each others' backs, even if they could barely look one another in the face.

Cas had dropped his eyes and then he'd winged out, leaving Meg alone to explore the delights of Back End of Beyond, no more clued in to what was going on than when she'd hitched a lift into town.

Right. Well, first things first. If Cas was in trouble she might need wheels and the younger of her two opponents had put the pink slip and keys to his pickup truck on the pile of tens and twenties. Meg did her best to ignore the trailing echoes of agonized screams and topped up the whiskey in her glass. At least they'd been far enough away from the radio that the SOS hadn't shattered their bottle, and no one had had been flustered enough to overreact like the high strung pair of retirees at the next table who had sent everything flying in their haste to duck for cover.

Her opponents, a vacationing used car salesman named Jerry and a local hick named Danny, were pathetically easy to read. The car salesman had a crap hand and was bluffing. The blond-haired, blue eyed kid who looked like he could have been a singing cowboy back in the day when singing cowboys were a thing, thought he was about to collect. They were both money hungry, which was why the sudden burst of wide band angel radio hadn't put them off their game. But there was no time to see just how much more either man would be willing to wager. Danny Boy didn't have a whole lot left to bargain with other than the solid silver belt buckle Jerry was slavering over because it would make a hell of a souvenir to show his friends back in St Paul. With a sigh, Meg called, which was probably the last thing Slick Jerry expected. He sputtered a little and then put down his cards.

As Meg expected, Jerry had zilch. Not even a pair of twos.

"What about you, Cowboy?" Meg asked with a coy smile. The screams continued to echo ominously in the recesses of her brain, but a demon had to get by, especially during wartime.

Danny Boy smiled back at her, all aw shucks corn fed sunshine, and Meg felt her own smile slip as her heart unexpectedly clenched. Every once in a while, when the world wasn't about to fall in on them, Cas smiled at her like that. Danny put down his cards and revealed a full house – jacks and threes – and then leaned back in his chair with his hands over his head in a self-satisfied pose.

Meg shrugged, a small, regretful motion, and put her cards on the table. She had a straight flush and at the sight of all those hearts, the smile on Danny Boy's face faded to numb disbelief. "Sorry, boys. It's been fun," She raked money, keys, and a pink slip off the table. "but I've got places to be."

Tipping the last of her glass of Jack Daniels down her throat, Meg dropped one more easy smile at the two stunned men before scooping up the half empty bottle and tucking it under her arm. Maybe she should have left it as a consolation prize, but the screaming in her head suggested it might come in handy later. She asked the way to Mesquite Falls from a tourist in a ten gallon hat as she scoped out her new ride, an older but well maintained Ford 4X4. There was a Remington shotgun in the cab rack and a loaded Ruger New Vaquero Colt 45 stuck under the driver's seat. Meg kept them both, but in memory of Danny's aw shucks smile she tossed his saddle onto the front porch of the saloon and then roared off into the night down a lonesome stretch of highway.

Cas's torturer, a thickly muscled thug named Darryl, smiled with a mouth full of rotten and broken teeth, which wasn't a pleasant sight. The cruelty of his soul shone through his glittering black eyes like a malevolent beacon. There was an aura about him that suggested he was accustomed to violence even before he was possessed, and the demon, rather than tormenting a trapped soul through its cruel and malicious actions, might have actually been cramping Darryl's style. He contemplated a piece of jagged rebar thoughtfully for a few seconds and then jammed it through Cas's shoulder, adding another to a long list of injuries.

The pain was awful. Cas gave it voice, screaming loud and long until his cry echoed from the rafters and even some of the more jaded-seeming of his captors looked away, discomfited. Darryl's smile intensified and became even more cruel. Cas's blood was everywhere. His torturer wiped a smear of it across his left cheek as he contemplated his next act of violence. They were damaging his vessel in the most obvious ways possible, and taking petty revenge for the three demons Castiel had smote before he'd been captured. Despite the availability of angel blades, Darryl used human weapons: a sap, a leather and metal spiked glove over his meaty fist, box knives, mechanics tools, and the chunk of iron rebar, scooped off the factory floor in a fit of malign inspiration, so that there was no real threat of permanent damage. He would be irresistible bait, if Sam and Dean saw what was left of him.

Cas drew a gasping breath and then chuckled despite his pain. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on him. He regarded Timothy and Mariah, standing just beyond the circle of holy fire. They were living in strange times, and strange bedfellows were an inevitable consequence. It would be naive to think that he and Meg were the only ones of their kind to form alliances. Heaven's war was no longer a clear cut battle to bring order from chaos. It had become chaos, and even the demons that reveled in destruction had begun to long for stability, forming their own factions and alliances as protection while the millennia old power structure crumbled and potential new leaders fought for dominance. 

It had left them all vulnerable and open to uncertainty. It was the reason why he had gotten into this mess. Because just for a moment he had let his faith waver. Otherwise he would have never believed Timothy and Mariah's story about finding the Cloak of Heaven. He would have never come to this deserted warehouse to see their proof and offer his counsel. 

There was a change in the air. A barely noticeable vibration that caused the dust motes to tremble. Cas held himself still, forcing himself not to react. Somewhere in the shadowy remains of the refinery Meg was nearby. Cas could _feel_ her presence, that irresistible blend of warmth and sarcasm that made even her demon's visage beautiful. He took comfort in her loyalty, especially after the cruelty of his recent betrayal. Meg had proved she was a true friend.

It wasn't going to be easy, but somehow he needed to find a way to buy her enough time to come up with an escape plan, preferably before Darryl gave way to his baser instincts and began to torture him in earnest. Although he was growing groggy with pain, Cas did his best. He thought of what Dean might do if he were caught up in similar circumstances, and although it pained him, he smiled cockily at up at Darryl. "Is that the best you've got?" he asked as if he was bored.

Darryl's smug smile fell. He flexed his fist and punched Cas in the face, spilling fresh blood before reaching for the angel blade he'd secreted in the long pocket of his filthy cargo pants.

Meg found the copper refinery easily enough. It was a beacon of ruined industry out in a patch of desert just a few miles down the highway. There was a large sign out front that warned people away. It was a Super Fund site under the jurisdiction of the EPA. Furthermore, trespassers would be severely prosecuted. The EPA's only real presence was marked by a pair of temporary office trailers, no longer quite pristine white, with their logo painted prominently on the side. There was no evidence any actual cleanup was on going. No barrels marked with danger symbols. No trucks to haul away waste. No special equipment in place to remediate the damage that decades of smelting had done to the local environment. Meg parked the pickup in the shadow of one of the trailers and prepared to go into battle.

There were shells for the shotgun and an extra speed loader for the revolver in the glove compartment. She put both into her pockets, tucked the revolver in her waistband, and slung the shotgun over her shoulder. Her knife was in its accustomed place; in a holster concealed by her jacket sleeve. Knowing she had caused more damage with less made her feel a little better about walking into a bad situation without so much as a canister of salt or a flask of holy water. Cas's clock was ticking, there wasn't time to do more, so she moved out, slipping through an unlocked side door that had once been an employee entrance and into the refinery.

The interior of the building looked like the shift had clocked off on a Friday night and just never returned. Helmets and safety goggles hung on row of pegs next to a long bank of lockers. There was a laundry basket full of towels and another filled to overflowing with coveralls. Out on the factory floor, bins were filled with ore waiting to be crushed on one end of a conveyor belt. There were big buckets suspended overhead. Everything was covered with a fine layer of gritty dust, despite the gigantic air filtration units. Meg could feel powdered ore penetrating her lungs and she had to resist the urge to cough them clean. The furnace was cold, but the scent of industry, oil, metal, burning coal, still hung heavy on the air, and for a moment she thought she could see the shadowy ghosts of the men who had sweated and toiled on the production line, turning rock into ingots of gleaming metal. 

A scream echoed down the corridor. Meg shook her head, dismissing the ghostly presences, and followed the sound past more industrial machinery to its source.

They were at the end of the line. Pallets of copper ingots still stood waiting to be shipped out, now somewhat dimmed by dust and the passage of time. Meg crouched behind a pillar and noted clinically the runes and sigils that had been painted on the walls and floor. There was a large map of the solar system on a board and someone had overlaid it with a plastic sheet, tracking the progress of a comet that had been the talk of the headlines for days. What any of it had to do with Cas wasn't immediately clear. 

Two angels argued with a pair of demons. The female member of the team kept pointing at the planetary map, stabbing at the air with a manicured fingernail. The other angel kept his eyes fixed on a circle of holy fire. Inside of it, a huge ugly brute of a demon toyed with an angel blade as he leered at his victim.

Despite the fact his face was a bloody pulp, and that there was a piece of metal protruding from his left shoulder, Cas was smiling cockily up at his tormentor, goading him to do his worst.

"Oh, Clarence," Meg whispered softly. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"

The big demon used the tip of the blade to flick aside the ruins of Cas's shirt, more fully exposing his chest for punishment. Then he glanced over at the rest of his companions and smiled as he drew a thin line over Cas's heart.

The smile on Cas's face flickered and then faded as he cried out in pain. He dropped his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked up defiantly, his mouth curving once more into a diminished echo of his cocky expression.

The compulsion to wipe the smug grin off the demon's face was strong. Without thinking, Meg released her own blade from its holster and her fingers closed around its pommel. Then she got an idea.

Five against one were lousy odds, even if she'd been tooled up properly. She needed help. Or fewer opponents. Meg looked at the knife in her hand and then with a grimace on her face, pulled up her sleeve. She drew the blade across her arm and watched as blood began to flow.

After a few moments, the cut began to sting. Meg ignored the irritation as she brought up a sigil Cas had once shown her from memory, and then painted its lines and curves onto the concrete floor. She smeared more blood onto her palm and then slapped it down in the center of the sigil, feeling a small thrill of triumph as the two angels were forcibly ejected from the building to parts unknown.

The demons reacted by instinct, pulling weapons and falling into defensive postures as they scanned the warehouse, trying to work out why their angelic buddies had taken off in such a hurry.

One of them was the cautious sort. He smoked out and his meatsuit crumpled to the ground.

Meg pulled the revolver, had a quick flash of herself in a cowboy hat, and aimed at the demon threatening Cas. It was a tricky shot, but she had little choice. The demon had decided that maybe the party was over and he wanted to finish the job he'd started. He raised the blade for a killing blow.

Meg fired.

She aimed for the demon's wrist and and hit the knife instead. It flew spinning across the warehouse and clattered to the ground, well away from the ring of fire. For a few seconds, anyway, Cas was safe. She fired again, with the shotgun this time, sending a volley of pellets at the supervising demon, destroying the face of his meatsuit.

He smoked out too.

One to go.

Meg gave the big demon a playful smile as she came out from behind a pallet of ingots. She waved him forward in invitation as she advanced. "Come on, Big Boy, let's see what you've got."

He smacked a spiked gloved fist into his palm and then with more speed then should have been possible, he lunged forward with his arms spread wide, as if he intended to sweep her up into a bear-hug.

Meg leapt backwards, and felt the thrill of a narrow escape. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't the dumb ox he appeared to be. She was going to have to be on her toes if she was going to get out of the fight unscathed. Her grip tightened on her knife as she circled around and looked for an opening.

Cas felt the pull of the rejection sigil's spell, but the ring of burning holy oil kept him imprisoned. He looked around as best he could, and when he saw Meg, he felt a fresh surge of hope. Hope was all he had left. Now that he was alone and unrestrained, the malevolence in Darryl's gaze burned even brighter as he anticipated his victim's last moments of agony. Cas looked up at the shining tip of the angel blade glittering in the dim light and prayed for a miracle.

The revolver barked, and he was rewarded.

The angel blade arced out of Darryl's hand and out of sight.

Then a shotgun roared.

Briefly, Cas wondered if Meg had managed to round up reinforcements before she stepped out from behind her place of concealment and beckoned Darryl to come out and play.

They _danced_ , for lack of a better term, around each other, taking one another's measure. Darryl grinned his hideous grin, anticipating the damage that he could wreak upon his much smaller opponent.

But he didn't know how devious Meg could be.

Darryl made a play for the knife in Meg's hand. She spun away before he could connect and darted in close, slicing his arm below the sleeve of his tee-shirt and then jumping backwards before she dove back in and attacked from the other side.

Darryl frowned. He hadn't anticipated the move. He lurched closer and with a massive paw, took a swipe at Meg's head.

He connected solidly with a ringing blow. The force of the strike sent Meg reeling, and the studs mounted in the leather left a bloody slash under her right eye.

She kept moving on unsteady feet, using her momentum to get out of range of danger until she came to rest against a fire extinguisher mounted against a pillar.

Meg yanked the extinguisher from the wall. She activated the control and sent a plume of foam straight at Darryl's eyes, blinding him.

He roared and lurched forward, but Meg was ready for him. She dropped the extinguisher and ran to meet Darryl head on, driving her knife deeply into his chest.

The strike was serious, but not lethal. Darryl crumpled to his knees with an expression of utter rage still on his face. He smoked out and the empty body fell sideways with a heavy thud.

Meg dropped to her knees, chest heaving as she sucked air. She wiped blood off her face, examined the crimson smear on the back of her hand for a few seconds, and then shook her head. "The things I do for you, Clarence."

Unsteadily, she got to her feet and then retrieved the fire extinguisher. She blew foam over the holy fire until it was reduced to tendrils of wispy smoke and then stepped inside the ring, obliterating Enochian sigils. 

Meg's cheek was smeared with blood. Her hair was disheveled and her eye was rapidly turning black.

She was beautiful.

Cas smiled in appreciation as the world around him dimmed and his head sagged forward onto his chest.

Maybe the party was over. Maybe it wasn't. Meg had no way of knowing. What she did know was the best place the pair of them could be was somewhere else.

She glanced down at Cas. He was out cold. Or worse. If he had just been beaten, as ugly as the injuries were, they would have healed eventually. But he'd been cut with an angel blade. Those wounds, though not nearly as brutal, were serious. They were radiating pure blue light. If she didn't do something fast …

There wasn't time to think about what could happen. Meg glanced around her and saw nothing useful. She'd have to get Cas out of there and patched up. And she needed to do it quickly. She sucked in a breath of dusty air, coughed it back out again, and then cut Cas free of his bonds. He sagged forward and into her arms.

A fireman's carry would have been best, but there was a chance that that would aggravate the knife wounds. Leaving Cas slumped where he was, Meg gathered up her weapons, and the extra angel blade, and then put Cas's arm around her shoulder, pulling him upright. She glanced around again, saw the emergency exit, and half dragged - half carried Cas out of the building.

The EPA's trailers and her new truck were only a hundred yards away, but it seemed much further. Cas was dead weight and the surge of adrenaline that had fueled her fight with the larger demon was leaching away, leaving her feeling exhausted. She was leaking energy nearly as fast as Cas was and it was energy they couldn't spare. But there was no choice, she'd just have to tough it out a little longer.

She glanced over at Cas. He'd roused enough to place his hand over the glowing wound, and it looked as if he was physically trying to hold himself together. "Come on, Clarence," Meg urged as he stumbled over his feet and nearly pulled them both down. "It's not much further now." She smiled encouragingly, even though she didn't feel especially optimistic. "We've been through worse. Right? Right?"

Cas nodded and he tried to smile. His free hand came to rest against Meg's hip. "Right," he agreed solemnly. "We can do this." He slurred his words through swollen lips and Meg had the impression he was humoring her. Agreeing because it was easier to say what she wanted to hear rather than admitting the truth: that she had been too late, and he was dying.

"Yes, we can." Meg gritted her teeth as they took a plodding step forward and then another. She glanced over at Cas. Even though his eyes were nearly swollen shut and his face was a bloody ruin, she could see the effort he made to appear determined as he painfully squared his jaw. It made Meg's demon heart do one of those curious flip flops, and a small surge of energy seemed to lighten her step, at least enough to drag the pair of them the rest of the way across the parking lot.

[ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/beesandbrews/10203449/6497/6497_original.jpg)

From very far away Cas could hear Meg's voice. She jostled his shoulder and finally he could make out her words. "Stay with me and don't explode, Clarence."

He nodded, although even that small gesture exhausted him more than he thought possible and slurred back at her, "Won't explode."

She smiled back at him, tightly, and they came to a halt next to a big blue pickup truck. "Okay," She opened the passenger side door. "Up you go."

With Meg's help, Cas clambered into the passenger seat and then slumped gratefully against the seat back. He shut his eyes and felt himself fading out again as Meg shoved her shotgun in the rack behind his head, and then belted him into the seat. She slammed the door and then a moment later got in behind the wheel. There was a bottle on the seat between them. She picked it up, took a long drink, and then a few seconds after that, they were away, jostling over first the broken pavement of the parking lot and then onto the two lane highway that stretched endlessly through the desert.

The thrum of the engine as they roared away from the refinery was soothing. It would be so easy to let go. His vessel was damaged. So very damaged. He needed to rest. To heal. His shoulder hurt. He had the sense that something was there that shouldn't be. He reached down blindly and his fingers found rough metal. He didn't normally have metal stuck in his shoulder, did he?

And then Cas remembered Darryl and his malevolent grin. He yanked on the iron bar as Meg cried, "No! Cas, wait!" 

The rebar hurt nearly as much coming out as it had going in. Cas moaned his agony and then he stopped fighting the urge to let go. 

But there was something … 

Something more important than his pain.

Something that had to do with what Timothy and his friends were up to …

Cas grasped onto the last tenuous threads of his consciousness and forced his eyes to open. He flung his hand out and grabbed Meg by the arm. "You have to tell Dean!" he said urgently. His voice was a hoarse croak, barely intelligible even to his own ears. "Dean!" Cas did his best to enunciate as clearly as he could even though his jaw could barely open and his lips and tongue were swollen and bruised. 

Meg glanced over and then threw her arm across his chest protectively as they went over a sharp dip in the road. Once they were on level ground again, she put her hand back on the wheel and said, "Tell Dean what?"

Cas couldn't let go. He gripped harder, using what little strength he had left to convey the urgency he felt. It was vital that the brothers be contacted right away, even before they reached a place of safety. "There's trouble."

"Why? Is it Tuesday?" Meg gave Cas one of her patient looks. The one he had come to recognize from the mental hospital. She was prepared to humor him, but only so far. "Clarence, there's always trouble. What kind?"

"Dean and Sam …" Cas could feel his grasp on consciousness slipping again. But this was important. He had to hold himself together for just a few more seconds. "Dean and Sam," he said again. "in...danger. Comet. Hide." It was the best he could do. Everything got far away again and then it went black.

The bright fluorescent lights in the Gas and Sip hurt Meg's eyes. She grabbed a pair of overpriced, oversized black plastic framed sunglasses off a rack and put them on. There were completely devoid of style, but she couldn't deny they made the glare bearable and they did a pretty good job of hiding the damage to her face. She kept them on as she picked up a plastic and wire shopping basket off the stack by the door and started to rapidly fill it.

First aid supplies. All the canisters of salt. They didn't have any spray paint or markers, but there were coloring books and crayons. Meg added _Find Mr Jackalope_ and a deluxe coloring set to her basket and then a couple of paperback novels and magazines. At least it would give her something to do while Clarence was out.

The aroma of fresh donuts was almost as intense as the lights, but a lot more pleasant. Meg's stomach growled at the co-mingled scents of sugar glazed and cinnamon and chocolate frosted cake. Without warning she was painfully hungry. A twelve pack of raised and glazed and a couple of burritos off the hot rack became an instant no brainer. She filled a large coffee cup to the brim and noticed the tired-eyed clerk was watching her closely. She smiled at him, and then put her over full basket on the counter next to a stack of Albuquerque newspapers headlined 'Cosmic Countdown: Two Days to Supermoon and Comet 225.' 

"Hang on a minute, Slick, I'm not quite done."

Once he healed himself, Clarence could send his clothes to the angelic dry cleaners, but until he did, he'd feel better if he had something to protect his dignity. The convenience store didn't have much in the way of a selection, but there were _Land of Enchantment_ tee-shirts on a rack. Cas would probably like the sparkling night sky and the scenic vista depicted on the shirt fronts. Meg added two XXL ones to her pile of shopping and then watched impatiently as the clerk rang everything up.

She filled the tank and then took off again, munching a beef and cheese burrito and drinking industrial strength coffee as Cas slumbered and the night sky faded and more miles racked up on the odometer. Cas hadn't roused at all during her shopping excursion or during her rather strained conversation with Dean, but at least he had healed himself enough so that he was no longer leaking grace. Maybe she hadn't been too late after all.

Dawn broke and the sun in the rear view mirror was nearly as blinding as the lights in the Gas and Sip. At long last they rattled their way into Tucumcari. It had been a long night, and she was done in. She pulled into a motor court and registered for a week.

As badly as Meg wanted to crash, there was still work to be done. She hauled Cas bodily from the truck and walked him to their temporary home. She dumped him onto the bed and then went back for the guns and the shopping.

Angels and demons working together. That was right up there with Leviathans in the Suck Department. There were days when Meg didn't know what the world was coming to, and yesterday had been one of them. She locked the door and shot the bolt on the safety chain, which would at least give her some warning against human intruders, and then poured lines of salt over the thresholds to keep out unwanted demons. No doubt the management would have something to say about the crayon marks on their freshly painted walls, but they needed protection from all comers. "Angels and ministers of grace, defend us," Meg muttered as she broke open the plastic packaging seals and started to sketch the first of many Enochian sigils.

An hour later, Meg tossed the worn stub of the pink crayon onto the dinette table. There was just enough wax left to fill in Mr Jackalope's bunny nose. She sighed and then ate a doughnut and finished the dregs of her coffee, now cold and sour, before going to tackle the last of her chores.

"Come on, Clarence, bath time."

At the mental hospital they'd made it easy to bathe ill and invalid patients. There were walk-in bathtubs and showers big enough to roll a wheelchair into and still have room to spare. The Roadrunner Inn was severely lacking in any such amenities. The motor court's bathroom featured a dinky fiberglass tub with a water-saving shower head. But it was all they had so it would have to do. Meg put the towels and washcloths within easy reach, unwrapped a doll-sized bar of plain soap, and then stripped down to her skin.

Cas offered no protest as Meg tugged his trench coat off of his shoulders and then stripped him of his ruined shirt, noting clinically the damage that he'd suffered. The demon who had tortured him had been a master craftsman, and not merely a sadist. She recognized Alastair's technique in the handiwork and wondered if the demon had been another one of his protégés. Just what Cas had blundered into? Meg wondered, before she returned her focus to the task at hand.

As Cas's nurse Meg had been responsible for his personal care and she had undressed him many times. At her prompts, like a well trained puppet, he stuck out his feet one at a time for her to remove his shoes and socks. When Meg unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers and then guided him to his feet so she could remove them entirely, he was completely docile under her hands. 

She helped Cas into the bathroom and then over the sidewall of the bathtub. Together, they showered in not quite hot water that smelled faintly of something alkaline and then, when Cas's legs began to tremble in earnest, she lowered him to sitting and flipped the mechanical stopper, allowing the tub to fill. Mindful of his many injuries, she washed his skin clean, scrubbing gently at the dried blood until it was nothing more than a memory.

Cas smiled at her, a gentle, vulnerable smile. He trusted her, utterly and completely. Meg smiled back and realized that she was a long way from the ruthless crossroads demon she had once been. Somewhere along the line Castiel had corrupted her and not the other way around. She was no longer protecting him because it was expedient, or because it amused her to stick it to Crowley. She was protecting Cas because she gave a damn.

Worse, she'd keep on protecting him because, in her own way, she loved him.

[](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/beesandbrews/10203449/7018/7018_original.jpg)  


Castiel's mind floated in a state of semi-consciousness. He knew there was danger looming, but then again, there always was. For the moment he knew he was safe. He knew, although he was vulnerable, he was protected. As he drifted, his vessel renewed itself, erasing the damage caused by his tormentor. Cracked bones became sound. Lacerated skin and muscle became smooth and whole. Ugly bruises faded from black to green and finally disappeared entirely, until there was no visible sign he had been tortured.

Eventually, he came back to full awareness and he opened his eyes. He found himself in darkness. In a bed. And not alone. He was holding Meg in his arms, and she was sleeping.

In sleep, she was peaceful. Cas had rarely seen Meg at rest, she was always busy, always doing something. Even in the hospital, when she had been his caretaker, Meg had always been reading, or doing a crossword puzzle or playing Suduko, or filing her nails. But never had she been completely still. Now, her chest rose and fell slowly, and as she lay there in his arms, her expression was serene.

Memories of his rescue floated to the surface of his mind. Meg charging into the loading bay, as he sat tied and helpless, taking out his enemies with guile and creativity, and then helping him to escape, supporting his weight as he dragged himself across the parking lot. He felt an immense swelling of gratitude in his heart, and a lump came to his throat. Very gently, Cas did the one thing he knew that Meg would never permit. He pressed his lips to the top of her head, softly channelling all of his tender feelings into the kiss.

Meg stirred.

"Clarence? What are you doing?"

Caught out, Cas hesitated. "I was saying 'thank you'. " He swallowed his nervousness. "For rescuing me and keeping me safe."

Meg shrugged against the pillows. Through the fabric of an unfamiliar tee-shirt, Cas became conscious of the heat of her body against his as the shrug became a stretch of awakening. She looked up at him, studying his face. "It's what I do. You call for help and I come in guns blazing. It's perverted, I know, but I can't seem to help myself."

"It's not perverted." Cas knew she was trying to push him away. To shore up the crumbling wall that stood between them and kept dangerous emotions at bay. "It's good and noble."

Meg frowned up at him. "That's right. After everything I did for you, insult me."

She started to get up. Cas reached out and held her in place. "Stop. Just for a minute. Stop it. Stop deflecting."

"Castiel, don't." In the space of a moment, Meg's voice became deadly serious. All the playfulness was gone. Her expression became grave. Her eyes implored Cas not to venture into a territory they might both regret.

For once, Castiel refused to let himself be dissuaded. "Don't what?" he asked, genuinely confused. "Don't be grateful? How can I not be, after everything you've done for me. Don't be kind? I can't help that. Despite all the recent evidence to the contrary, being kind is second nature to an angel. Don't love you?" The last he asked without meaning to, but the words were on his tongue and over his lips before he could stop them.

Meg turned her face away. When she looked back on him it was with a rare intensity uncolored by humor or sarcasm. "You did not just say that. You did not just say you loved me."

Cas looked back at her with the same intensity. He hadn't let go of her arm and he could feel the energy radiating off her skin. "Yeah. I did. I love you, Meg. After everything, is that so difficult to believe?"

Meg shook her head sadly. "No, not difficult. Just impossible. In case you've forgotten, I'm a demon, Castiel. We don't do love." She looked down at her arm and his hand holding her in place. Reluctantly, Cas let go.

"Then what is this?" Cas swept his arm around the room. At the walls covered with protective sigils, at the salt-lined thresholds and then back towards himself, his fingers coming to rest on the fabric of the novelty tee-shirt. "Why do all of this if you don't care about me?"

Meg exhaled sharply. "I never said I didn't care," she said softly. Her gaze flickered to his face and then skittered back to the floor.

"So you do ... care for me?" Cas had no idea why he was pushing so hard. Maybe it was because he was so frustrated. Love was a good thing. There wasn't enough of it in the world. But those that he loved most and who he knew loved him in return seemed incapable of acknowledging the emotion.

"Yeah, damn it." Meg looked up, and the angry fire was back in her eyes. "I care. All right?"

That, at least, was something. Castiel felt the warm glow of triumph as he fell back against the pillows, exhausted. Evidently, he still wasn't entirely healed. "Good." Out of his peripheral vision he saw Meg reach for a nearly empty bottle. She uncapped it and let the amber liquid inside trickle down her throat until there was nothing left. She let the bottle clatter as she set it back down on the table.

"Fine. Now that that's settled, are you going to tell me what the hell was going on back at the refinery?"

The abrupt change of topics wasn't exactly what Cas was hoping for, but it was clear that Meg considered the discussion over. Memories of the refinery were painful. The betrayal by his brother and sister had hurt him deeply. "It was a trap."

Meg made an impatient gesture. "Yeah, I'd worked that much out for myself. Did they have some kind of bigger game in mind or was it just for kicks?"

"Timothy and Mariah told me … " Cas trailed off. Looking back on it, the story had been barely credible. But if it had been true and God's Cloak of Heaven had been found on Earth then that would have been definitive evidence that He had departed His realm.

"It doesn't matter," Cas replied as he tried to ignore feelings of hurt and betrayal that surged over him. He remembered something. Something about timing being everything. He glanced towards the shade covered window and remembered. "Where's the comet?" 

Meg gave him a puzzled look in reply. "The astronomers' wet dream? It skated through a couple of days ago and now it's halfway to Mars. Why?" 

Although the time lost healing was unsettling, the news that the planetary alignment had changed was welcome. Cas let out a relieved breath. "Good. Then Sam and Dean are safe. At least for now." 

"I still don't understand," Meg said. "What was this all about?"

Though the rationalization behind the plan had been delivered by Mariah with impassioned fervor, it still made little sense. Maybe retelling her theory to Meg might help him to understand as well. Cas glanced once more towards the window and then he tried to explain.

"The angels and demons in their faction believe that the Winchesters are at the heart of everything. They were going to try to lure them to the refinery and then use magic to erase them from history."

"To what end?"

Cas recalled Mariah's plea to help them lure the Winchester brothers to their doom. He'd already been imprisoned in the ring of holy fire by that time, and there was little consolation in the fact that their plan to torture him and use him as bait was a measure of last resort. 

"Without the Winchesters, there would have been no attempt to force the Apocalypse. There would have been no civil war." He looked down at the blankets crumpled in his lap. "No Leviathans released from Purgatory. They thought they could fix everything."

"A reverse butterfly effect," Meg said.

Cas frowned. He didn't understand what she meant.

"A butterfly flaps its wings in South America, so there's a typhoon in Japan," Meg explained. "Kill the butterfly and stop the typhoon."

"It sounds simple when you put it like that," Cas said. He was tired. Too much intense emotion had exhausted him more than he thought possible and once again everything started to seem far away.

" _Sounds_ being the operative word. The problem is the typhoon might have been vital for ending a drought in Africa. Daisy-chained events are a bitch that way. You never can be completely sure that you're breaking the right link. Or that there's not another something that would set a similar set of events in motion with the same result."

"You sound like you believe in predestination." In all the time they'd been together, they'd never broached the subjects of Meg's beliefs on more than a cursory level. And now, despite his bone deep fatigue, Cas found himself curious to know more about her personal philosophies. 

Meg frowned thoughtfully as she toyed with a loose thread at the hem of her tee-shirt. A shirt that was a twin to the one Cas wore. "If you mean I believe that everything happens for a reason, then yeah, I suppose I do."

"Including what's happened between you and me?" Maybe Cas shouldn't have spoken. Maybe he should have been content with the admission that Meg did care, but some questions refused to remain unasked.

Meg looked at him with an unfathomable expression. Cas held out his hand to her and for a long moment she hesitated and then she took it. She climbed back into bed with her back to him and Cas pressed his lips to the top of her head once more.

They lay that way, not saying anything for a long while until finally Meg rolled over and placed her head against Cas's chest. She reached upward and stroked Cas's cheek with tentative fingers. It was a small acknowledgement that her feelings went deeper than friendship.  
For Cas, in that moment, it was enough.

end


End file.
